


I've Got That Feeling That Anchors Me Down

by LayALioness



Series: (belated) Bellarke Week! [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4461845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LayALioness/pseuds/LayALioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clarke first sees him—wearing a guard uniform, and so much older than the rest of them—she expects him to be trouble. She expects him to order them around, to bully the younger kids and form some sort of militia that she’ll have to work around and avoid. She expects him to make everything more difficult than it already is, like dropping down onto a potentially toxic planet isn’t complicated enough.</p><p>Part 2 of my (belated) Bellarke Week!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got That Feeling That Anchors Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> title from Anchor by La Mar.
> 
> part two of Bellarke Week, canon divergent. this Bellamy is based pretty heavily on the one from the books, who was more of a hermit than a benevolent dictator. I love all Bellamy's in all forms, but I'm pretty partial to the one that's bad with people.

When Clarke first sees him—wearing a guard uniform, and so much older than the rest of them—she expects him to be trouble. She expects him to order them around, to bully the younger kids and form some sort of militia that she’ll have to work around and avoid. She expects him to make everything more difficult than it already is, like dropping down onto a potentially toxic planet isn’t complicated enough.

But, aside from that snide _If the air is toxic, we’re all dead anyway_ , once he opens the door, he pretty much disappears.

While everyone else frolics around in the trees, and fucks up against the dropship and literally everywhere else, and fights over jackets and makeshift knives, Bellamy lingers around the peripheral. Nobody really notices him, and he takes no interest in joining any of the delinquents in their newfound freedom. Each time Clarke glimpses him, he’s sharpening a branch into a spear, or trying his hand at throwing knives. Once, that first day—while she takes his sister and a few other boys—he goes hunting, and comes back with something heavy and covered in coarse, black fur. There are dull bones, like tusks, sprouting near its face. It might have been a boar, at one time. He keeps the back haunches for him and his sister, who he helps limp towards the fire, and then tosses the rest of the carcass to the kids. He eats with Octavia, silent even as she chatters away to Monty and Jasper and Clarke.

Clarke overhears Atom and one of the other older boys, whispering that Bellamy has a gun, tucked away in his pants. It makes sense, then, to find him, and ask for his help in collecting Finn, speared through his chest the day before. He might not still be alive—they may have waited too long, but. She wants to be sure, just the same.

She expects Bellamy to say no, or at least argue the point. He doesn’t. He says, “Lead the way, princess,” and the nickname irks her, but she can take it. If it’s the worst that he throws at her, she’ll take it. He follows her through the trees.

He isn’t what she expects. He catches her when she falls, and he groans with the strain of hauling her up and against him.

He’s older than the others, and it shows. He’s harder, and taller, and stronger. His arms are tense around her shoulders, and her cheek is warm against his chest. She can feel his heartbeat thrumming against her skin.

“We should keep going,” he says, and pulls away. Between the two of them—and Wells, who had followed behind even though she told him not to—they manage to pull Finn down from the tree, and drag him back to camp. They go back for the panther.

She sits down beside him at the fire, and he raises a brow to her but says nothing, ripping the meat with his teeth. She’s exhausted after spending the afternoon, trying to keep Finn alive, and now she’s not even sure he’ll last the night. She wants to collapse in the dropship and sleep for days, but her stomach is so empty it hurts.

Without a word, Bellamy reaches to pull a stick of panther meat from the ground, and hands it to her. “Thanks,” she says, and eats wordlessly. Across the camp, Octavia is making friends, and periodically limping up to check that Finn’s still breathing. Wells is sitting with some of the younger girls, and Clarke can feel his eyes on her. She ignores them.

“So,” she says, licking the last of the grease from her fingers. Bellamy glances at her. “You’re not an asshole,” she decides. He snorts, and then chokes on his dinner. She grins, slapping his back to help him breathe.

“Don’t be so sure,” he warns hoarsely, but she’s pretty sure he’s just fronting. Like Murphy, or one of the other older boys who want to look tough.

“How come you don’t talk to any of the others?” she asks, and he shrugs.

“I don’t talk to you either,” he points out. “You came over here, and almost made me choke to death.”

“You should always chew your food,” Clarke says soberly, and he shoves her.

The next day, she walks out of the dropship to see Bellamy talking with Colin and Atom by the water buckets. He doesn’t seem particularly happy about it, but. It’s a start.

She checks on Finn—he’s alive, but not for much longer. Wells explains the cure and offers to take her, and she grits her teeth but a grudge isn’t enough for her to let a boy die. She wanders up to Bellamy, sharpening a stick on a rock near the tree line.

She kicks at his ankle in greeting, and he grunts up at her. “Come with me,” she says and he sighs, but he puts the stick down on a pile near his feet and stands.

“Seems like a lot of effort to go to for some kid,” he mutters as they hike, and Clarke squints up at him. The sun is bright on his face.

“You don’t have to pretend you don’t like anyone,” she says. He frowns.

“I _don’t_ like anyone,” he grumbles, and she huffs. He glances down at her, amused to find she’s tangled up in some thorny vines. He bends and cuts them loose. “I don’t,” he repeats, “And they don’t like me either, so it’s cool. Mutual dislike.”

“You like Octavia,” Clarke argues. “She likes you.” Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“That doesn’t count,” he says. “We’re siblings.” He glances up to make sure they haven’t lost sight of Wells. He’s giving them some distance, like he thinks they might want privacy or something. It’s endearing, until Clarke remembers she hates him.

“I like you,” Clarke shrugs, refusing to feel embarrassed. _And you like me_ , she wants to say, because why else would he be here? But she swallows it down.

Bellamy grins down at the forest floor, and she’s pretty sure it’s for her. She hasn’t seen him smile at anything other than Octavia, so she’s a little smug about it.

“You just don’t know better, yet,” he says, and she shakes her head but doesn’t bother correcting him.

“Got it,” Wells calls back, glancing at them a little bashfully, like he expects to find them making out against a tree.

 _Maybe next time_ , Clarke tells herself, and helps him collect the seaweed while Bellamy stands guard.

They hear the horns before they see the gas, and they’re too far from the camp to make it in time. Bellamy finds the metal door, and shoves her in wildly, and then Wells, before pulling it closed after them. He sits with his chest angled a little behind her, so his pants land hot and wet on the back of her neck.

His hand is on her knee, like he’s trying to reassure himself she’s there. She reaches back to curl her hand in his shirt, and he shivers. Across from them, Wells digs through old world artifacts, and drags a bottle of vodka from under the seat.

“My father talked about this,” he says, a mixture of fondness and regret. Clarke gets it; he misses his dad.

She misses hers, too.

“Give me that,” she says, snatching the bottle. She takes a sip, a little more tentative than she means to. Even in her biggest moments of rebellion, she still plays it safe. Her face scrunches up at the sour, burning taste, and Bellamy laughs. The sound vibrates down her spine, and his breath is warm on her skin. She really wants to kiss him, but. That could be the alcohol.

Can she get drunk on one sip? She’s pretty sure she can’t, but she’s hopeful.

Bellamy takes the bottle from her softly. “This stuff could be toxic,” he teases.

“Your breath is toxic,” she shoots back, and he grins.

Wells picks at the crumbling vinyl. “The gas is probably gone by now,” he mumbles. Bellamy climbs out first, reaching a hand in for her. He holds it the whole walk back.

That night at dinner, she’s collecting two sticks of meat—one for her and one for Bellamy, while he’s off in the trees, hunting down some berries he swears he saw on their walk back—when Colin comes up to her.

“Hungry?” he jokes, eyeing the two portions. Clark grins back a little confused; she doesn’t think they’ve ever spoken, before.

“One’s for Bellamy,” she shrugs, letting him come to his own conclusions.

He makes a little sound of understanding, and then says “Well, when you’re done eating, wanna maybe hang out? I have a tent, now.”

“Uh,” Clarke falters. She’s _sure_ she and Colin have never spoken, let alone _hung out_ , so she’s not really sure why he wants to, now. She knows some of the younger kids have taken to calling her mom behind her back, because she’s constantly asking if they’re drinking enough water, and making them button their jackets. Maybe he thinks she can get him warmer socks, or something. “I think I’m going to bed right after, but we can always talk in the morning,” she says politely. She wants them to know they can come to her about anything.

“Right,” Colin nods a little reserved, and heads back towards the larger group. She goes to turn towards the little fire pit where she, Bellamy and Octavia usually eat. Jasper falls into step beside her, two sticks in hand.

“You know he was flirting with you, right?” he says, amused, and Clarke chokes on nothing. “He totally wanted to tap this,” he makes a vague gesture to all of her.

“He was _not_ ,” Clarke grumbles. She would have _known_ if someone were coming onto her. She likes Bellamy, sure, but she’s not about to give up on a good prospect if she has one. Jasper shrugs good-naturedly.

“Whatever you say, mom,” he chirps, handing a stick to Octavia as he sits. She beams up at them, while she works at braiding little flower stems through Monty’s hair. He seems not to notice, too busy going over the map from the dropship.

“If we pack light and start before dawn,” he decides, “We should be able to get there by late afternoon.”

“Get where?” Clarke asks, passing Bellamy’s meat. He nods to her in thanks.

“Mt. Weather,” he says, and she stares at him. He frowns at her look. “What?”

“Nothing,” she shakes her head, biting her lip so she doesn’t grin widely. “Just—are you actually _participating with the group_?” she asks cheekily.

“I’m outnumbered,” he says around a mouthful. “If you can’t beat em, join em, right?”

“Right,” Clarke agrees, and leans forward to see the map. “So, where do we start?”

Octavia finds her in the dropship the next morning. They’ve decided they have enough supplies to last another week, so they’ll head for Mt. Weather when Finn is well enough for Clarke to leave.

“Hey,” Octavia chirps, eyeing Finn where he’s asleep on the cot. His breathing is more even, and his skin is tinged pink a little, so Clarke’s pretty confident he’ll make it.

“Hey,” Clarke waves a hand towards the upturned crate she’s been using as a chair. “How’s the leg?”

Octavia shrugs and makes a so-so gesture with her hand. Then she pauses and stares down at Clarke, more serious than she’s seen since that first day on the ground. It’s intense, and a little terrifying. Clarke wonders if Octavia can smell fear.

“What’s up with you and my brother?” she asks, and Clarke forgets to be intimidated, because mostly she’s just confused.

“We’re friends,” she frowns. “I mean, he’s sort of terrible at human interaction. I’m trying to coach him at it.”

Octavia grins a little wildly. “He’s the worst with people,” she agrees, and then leaves as blatantly as she’d walked in. Clarke stares after her, dumbly.

“So you and Blake, huh?” Finn mumbles from his cot, and Clarke frowns over at him.

“How much of that were you awake for?” she asks suspiciously. He grins cheekily, and she sighs. “Me and Blake,” she agrees. “Now go to sleep, or I’ll drug you with whatever glowing mushroom Monty’s found today.”

“That doesn’t sound at all dangerous,” Finn says mildly.

“You could die,” Clarke agrees. “Or at least sprout three eyes or something. So I’d try to sleep on my own, if I were you.”

“I’m happy for you,” Finn says muzzily, closing his eyes. “Love’s awesome.”

Clarke blinks. She doesn’t _love_ Bellamy—she’s known him for less than a week. She thinks he’s interesting, and funny, and maybe a little grouchy but ultimately kind. Also pretty hot, but she leaves that at the bottom of the list so she feels less shallow.

She could love Bellamy, she thinks. If the earth doesn’t kill them all, first.

That thought, ultimately, is what spurs her along. She doesn’t know when the next radioactive panther, or toxic gas, or lake monster might show up, and she’s suddenly very sure that she doesn’t want to die without at least kissing him.

Preferably doing a lot more with him, but. Baby steps.

Wells finds her first.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “But I can’t handle you hating me anymore. I came down here for you, and I know you didn’t ask me to, but—I didn’t turn your dad in.”

He tells her everything, and then holds her when she cries, and again when she apologizes. He whispers he loves her into her hair, and she doesn’t know how she’s managed to survive so long without her best friend.

“I was looking for Bellamy,” she says, pulling away slowly. If he asks her to stay with him, she will. She can tell Bellamy tomorrow. She can tell him, and then drag him off to go make out in the woods like a couple of horny teenagers. After all, she _is_ a horny teenager, and she’s been in prison for a year. She’s pretty sure she deserves this.

“Well don’t let me stop you,” Wells smirks and then sobers. “It’s good to see you so happy,” he says, and she loves him.

“Love’s awesome,” she says, and he snorts.

“Eloquent, as usual,” he teases, and pushes her towards the fire. “Go. Eat dinner, find your boyfriend, get laid, make beautiful babies with good hair. Maybe not in that order.”

Clarke makes a face, but then ruins it by heading straight towards the boy by the fire. He’s fiddling with something that looks suspiciously like a book, but she’s sure it isn’t. It can’t be; books are fragile, there’s no way they could have survived the apocalypse, and there weren’t any on the dropship.

But when she leans over his shoulder, she finds he’s holding a pile of very thinly cut, pale sheets of tree bark. He’s trying to tie them all together with some leather cordage, but it’s tough to bend.

“Were you a librarian in another life?” she asks, and he jumps a little, which is fantastic. It’s pretty much impossible to startle Bellamy Blake, so she counts this a victory. He glances up at her, and it’s dark and in the firelight everything looks a little orange, but she’s sure he’s blushing.

“Pretty sure I was a hermit in another life,” he says.

“You’re a hermit _now_ ,” Clarke points out, sitting beside him. “What’s with the book?”

Now he’s _definitely_ blushing, and it’s probably the best thing ever. “Wells said you like to draw,” he says.

“You talked to Wells?” she asks, because if she thinks about the fact that _he made a sketchbook for her_ , she won’t be able to speak at all.

“He wanted advice, on talking to you,” Bellamy says smugly. Clarke snorts.

“So he asked _you_? You’re inept when it comes to talking to people.”

Bellamy nudges her with his shoulder. “Well, you like me, so I’d say I’m pretty good at it.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “All the girls like you,” she argues. “Roma was flirting with you earlier, you know.”

Bellamy raises a brow in amusement. “I know,” he agrees. “Unlike _some_ _people_ , I don’t have to be told when someone’s flirting with me.” Clarke scowls; Jasper, the traitor. See if she ever stitches him up, again.

“I do like you,” Clarke says slowly, because there’s no real point in backing down now. He _made her a sketchbook_. “And I kind of want to kiss you. A lot.”

“Oh,” Bellamy grins, setting her sketchbook aside and pulling her into his lap. “That is a very attainable goal,” he says, and then kisses her.

She lets her thoughts blur together for a few moments, and the next time she’s fully aware, her knees are digging into the ground and her hands are in his hair, while his are curved up around her back as he mouths at her jaw.

“Bellamy,” she breathes, and he hums against her neck, so she pauses to collect herself. “Maybe we should find a,” he bites her skin and she moans loud enough to be embarrassed. “A tent, or— _fuck_ —a tree,” she suggests, but at this point she’d let him throw her down behind the fire and just pray no one turns around.

But he pulls away, looking up at her seriously. His hands move to cup her shoulders in an attempt to calm them down. “How old are you?” he asks, voice shaky, mouth swollen. She probably shouldn’t be staring at his lips. They make it hard to concentrate.

And then she actually takes in the question, and can’t help but laugh, because Bellamy Blake is worried about _taking advantage_ , seriously.

She giggles against his neck, and he rubs her sides absently. “If I said seventeen, would you want to wait for three weeks?” she muses.

In answer, he lets a hand drift down to cup her, grinding the heel of his palm against her cunt so that she whines. “There are other things we could do,” he says, sounding smug. “But no, I wouldn’t wait—I’d still fuck you tonight. I’d just feel bad about it.”

“Guilt is sexy,” Clarke mumbles, because now he’s thumbing at the button of her pants, and she can’t _breathe_.

“Hey, losers,” Octavia shouts from across the camp. “Stop sucking face—Monty’s got a surprise!”

“It better not be more mushrooms,” Clarke says blearily, and Bellamy growls as he pulls his hand back.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he says lightly, helping her to her feet. Her legs are a little shaky, which means she has to lean against him, but he just swings an arm around her shoulders, all affection. “And then we’re going to have sex in my tent.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Clarke chirps as they head towards the group.


End file.
